


Hopelessly Hopeless

by hajiimee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and attempted cooking, its honestly just 2000 words of fluff, nothing else, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hajiimee/pseuds/hajiimee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the short week and a half that Keiji had been living with Koutarou, there was one thing that he’d discovered that he really should have known beforehand:</p><p>Koutarou couldn’t cook to save his life. Which was a major problem.</p><p>Because Keiji couldn’t cook to save his life, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hopelessly Hopeless

In the short week and a half that Keiji had been living with Koutarou, there were at least three things that he’d discovered that he really should have known beforehand:  
  
1) Koutarou was a hugger when he slept. He curled around you like a cat, but with the size of a Bernese mountain dog, and he was warm like a furnace, his heat engulfing, and on warm nights, suffocating.  
  
2) All of his clothes were incredibly comfortable, and incredibly tempting. Even his underwear. This meant a daily repeat of conversations such as ‘Have you seen X item of clothing, Keiji?’, followed by a way too quick ‘Not at all, Koutarou’, when in actuality that incredibly cheesy owl t-shirt was under Keiji’s own hoodie, sneakily hidden away from his boyfriends sights.  
  
3) Koutarou couldn’t cook to save his life. Which was a major problem.  
  
Because Keiji couldn’t cook to save his life, either.  
  
“Which one is a tablespoon?” Koutarou was staring at him with at least three spoons in his hand, and green eyes wandered over each one, the brows above them knitting together above his nose in contemplation. He had a feeling that a tablespoon was a decently large spoon, so the tiny one at the end was ruled out, but he didn’t know _how_ large, meaning that it could be either of the other two as far as he knew.  
  
“I don’t know.” Keiji shrugged as he spoke, returning to his own task of trying to chop up a garlic clove, something which seemed so much easier on TV when it wasn’t skating across the chopping board. His frown deepened, lips curling down into a scowl. “Google it.”  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Koutarou’s face light up, and he nodded, fumbling for his phone and opening up a Safari tab, fingers tapping away at the screen. Despite his frustration, Keiji smiled, watching the small reflections of the google image search across his boyfriends eyes as he scrolled, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he glanced away from his phone to his selection of spoons, before he grinned, the expression managing to shift the mood of the whole kitchen.  
  
“It’s this one,” He stated, picking up the second spoon – the one that wasn’t the largest, but was in no way small, either. Keiji smiled at him – a mere curve of the lips, his eyes softening a tad. Koutarou had already looked away, though, fingers playing with the spoon, turning it over and over again as he read over the paper copy of their recipe. It was crumpled from being carried around all day, and the ink was somewhat smudged from a few ‘mishaps’, but it was still legible. Sort of, at least. “Now, I need to add three tablespoons of sugar to the soy sauce…”  
  
“That sounds like a lot of sugar, Koutarou.” Keiji replied, looking to the small bowl of soy sauce that they had prepared earlier, and then back to the spoon. He then let his eyes dart back up to his boyfriend, raising one eyebrow in questioning. “Are you sure you’re reading that right?”  
  
“I don’t think you can say anything about reading things right, Keiji. Not after you thought that by cup they meant an actual glass and ended up putting in so much soy sauce into the bowl that we used nearly a whole bottle. Like, imagine how that would have tasted– Ouch!” Koutarou cut off with a yelp, nearly dropping the spoon and rubbing his thigh with his other hand, frowning at Keiji, who merely averted his gaze back to his still intact garlic clove with red cheeks.  
  
“Just add your sugar.” He mumbled, attempting to use the fork that he had grabbed from the drawer to hold down the clove, trying to keep it from skidding across the kitchen. Again.  
  
“Did you just stab me with a fork?”  
  
Keiji ignored him, once again bringing the knife down onto the garlic clove, before hurriedly moving his hands to catch it as it tried to jump off the bench and onto the floor, glaring at it in frustration. If only looks could chop four garlic gloves. Koutarou huffed, and grabbed the sugar packet, sticking his spoon into it and beginning to add the sugar to the soy sauce.  
  
“This _does_ look like a lot of sugar,” he said to himself.  
  
“I told you so.”  
  
“But it really _does_ say three tablespoons in the recipe, Keiji. I swear.” In response, Keiji just hummed, the sound tight and angry and followed by a loud thump that made him smirk and Koutarou jump, a surprised yelp falling from his lips. “Hey! What did I do?”  
  
Keiji merely glanced up at the other boy, garlic juice on the side of his hand and a crushed clove on the chopping board.  
  
“I did it.”  
  
Koutarou glanced down, then up again, before swallowing.  
  
“Please never hit me.”  
  
Keiji scoffed, wiping his hand on his jeans before picking up the knife again, finally managing to chop one of four garlic cloves.  
  
“I’m never going to hit you, Koutarou. Don’t make me sound like a monster.” His fingers pried free another clove, and down came his fist again, smashing it and causing Koutarou to watch his fist with a wary gaze. The cycle repeated for another two cloves, before he had a neat pile of chopped garlic. “Pass me the bowl of sugary soy sauce, please.”  
  
It was by his side in a second, and he raised a questioning brow at his boyfriend once more.  
  
“Koutarou, I’m not going to hit you.”  
  
“I’m gonna need that in writing.”  
  
Keiji rolled his eyes, before tilting the chopping board and scraping the garlic into the small bowl of soy sauce and sugar, moving immediately to stir it in, the shreds of garlic floating on top making him antsy. Whilst he mixed, he held out his hand, not even needing to say a word before the recipe was in his hold. He looked up at it, squinting to read.  
  
“We need two tablespoons of rice vinegar, and then three tablespoons of sesame oil.”  
  
“Into the sugary, garlicy soy sauce?”  
  
Keiji nodded.  
  
“Into the sugary, garlicy soy sauce.”  
  
“Gross.” Koutarou grimaced as he moved to grab the two bottles from their shopping bag, and Keiji mimicked his expression, wrinkling his nose at their concoction.  
  
“Agreed.”  
  
They added the two ingredients, before reading the recipe again, deciding to forgo the hot chilli oil, knowing from experience that neither of them could handle spice. Instead, they skipped to the five spoonfuls of cannola oil, the final ingredient to their thoroughly destroyed soy sauce.  
  
“That was easy.” Koutarou, commented, as they admired their work. “We actually succeeded. I think we should celebrate.” Keiji scoffed, moving to hop onto the bench, his butt resting on the surface so that he could reach the tallest shelf of the cupboards, a place where they kept the things they never used. AKA: anything involved in cooking. The take-out menus, however, were in the easiest to reach places, at least three in every room. A truly healthy lifestyle that his mother would be so proud of.  
  
“It should be easy – we did get the recipe off of a list titled ’23 Ridiculously Easy Recipes People Can’t Cook’. If we can’t make this, then I think it’s time we convert the spare room into a permanent bedroom for our mothers so that we don’t die of starvation or heart disease.” Keiji was well aware that Koutarou wasn’t listening to him 100%, as there was the familiar feeling of warm, calloused palms smoothing themselves up his thighs. Keiji’s lips quirked, fingers wrapping around the handle of the cupboard and pulling it open.  
  
“We should still celebrate, though. I mean, even if the recipes easy, we still succeeded.”  
  
“Not yet, Koutarou. We haven’t even done the cooking part, yet. We have to do the noodles.”  
  
“We should celebrate what we’ve done _so far_ , then.” As Keiji stretched to grab the packet of noodles, lips brushed against the underside of his jaw, dragging themselves down in a peppering of chaste kisses. Koutarou nipped just below his ear, and Keiji let out a heavy breath – almost a huff – through his nose, his free hand moving up so that he could flick Koutarou’s temple.  
  
“No, Koutarou.”  
  
Koutarou whined against his skin, the feeling of a mouth against skin disappearing as the man dropped his head to his boyfriends shoulder, hands completing their journey and winding around Keiji’s waist. He gave a tug, bringing Keiji closer as his face turned, burying itself in Keiji’s neck, his breath warm and moist against the junction where neck met shoulder.  
  
“I’m bored. Cooking’s boring.” Koutarou sounded like a child, and Keiji was immediately reminded of days spent back on the court, where he’d get frustrated and turn into a petulant five year old in a teenager’s body. He let out a slow breath, easing the noodle packet from the shelf.  
  
“It’s necessary, Koutarou.”  
  
Koutarou huffed, pulling back and looking at Keiji with a stubborn look, obviously displeased with the answer, and Keiji rolled his eyes at his boyfriend, leaning up to do something he hadn’t done in their high school days. He caught his lips in a sweet kiss, eyes fluttering shut at the brief contact before he slowly began to pull away. _Began_ was the key word, however, as Koutarou gave him another tug, kissing him in that all-too-enthusiastic way that was so overwhelmingly Koutarou that Keiji was swept up in every time.  
  
It was firm, gentle kisses a rare occurrence with Koutarou and all his exuberance and energy, and there his lips moved against Keiji’s as if they hadn’t seen each other in months, having just been reunited and wanting to make up for the long stretch apart, starved of affection. It made Keiji’s toes curl in a subtle wave of happiness, warmth seeping through every vein in his body. He kissed back without hesitation, caught off guard and provoked into an automatic response. He couldn’t refuse, and Koutarou knew that, and Keiji felt that all too familiar triumphant smirk against his mouth as proof of what he was already aware of.  
  
Conniving piece of shit.  
  
After the buzz of being caught unaware faded, his fingers began moving again, slipping the noodles the final few centimetres from the shelf, letting his arm drop like a dead weight so that his hand and the packet fell against the top of Koutarou’s head, jogging their lips apart and causing Koutarou’s face to twist into a wince.  
  
“Ow,” he hissed, and Keiji smirked.  
  
“I said ‘no’, Koutarou.”  
  
Koutarou’s arms unwound from Keiji’s waist, one moving back to rest on Keiji’s thigh whilst the other rubbed at the top of his own head. A pout puckered his lips, and he looked like a kicked puppy, the resemblance so striking that Keiji could almost see the dropping ears jutting from his head. _Almost_. If he didn’t know any better, though, he might’ve said that the owl-like spikes the man sported had wilted just a bit.  
  
“You also said you’ve never hit me.”  
  
“I never put it in writing, though.”  
  
Hearing Koutarou whine was a common occurrence for their household, and Keiji merely gave a fond shake of his head as he lightly shoved against the taller mans’ chest, a sign for him to step backwards enough for Keiji to be able to hop down from the bench. He complied without hesitation, and Keiji was once again on his feet, pushing the noodles into Koutarou’s hands before crouching down to get a saucepan out from under the sink.  
  
“Stop staring at my ass, Koutarou.”  
  
“It’s the only perk to cooking.”  
  
“I don’t know, I can think of one more.”  
  
Koutarou leant against the bench, eyes pointed southwards.  
  
“And what’s that?”  
  
“Eating. The act of putting food into your body to prevent quell hunger. Ring any bells?” There was no answer. Keiji pulled a pan from the cupboard, holding the handle with one hand and resting the other on the closed door of the adjacent cupboard to keep his balance. “Koutarou?”  
  
Koutarou blinked, jolting out of a daze and letting a lopsided grin hang on his face.  
  
“Sorry, I got distracted by the only perk to cooking.”  
  
“You’re awful.”  
  
“Awfully amazing.”  
  
Keiji stood, kicking the cupboard shut and plucking the noodles from the other boys’ hands, replacing them with the pot instead. His expression read ‘I am displeased’ in total, but the small, blink and you’ll miss, curve to his lips shattered the image.  
  
“Fill that with water, please.”  
  
“Righto, boss.”  
  
Keiji’s smile widened, and he gave a laugh that was more of a breath than anything, shaking his head as he opened the noodles, separating them and putting them into two bowls as a precaution against making too much, something which was a real struggle when it came to anything pasta-like. He took a moment to assess them, before deeming them decent enough. Koutarou walked passed him, placing the saucepan onto the stove and turning on the gas, letting the flame flicker to life. Keiji watched the water, the ripples from movement dying out as it settled. And then – nothing. Perfectly still.  
  
“Koutarou.”  
  
Koutarou glanced up, gold eyes locking with green. He raised one arched, white eyebrow.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Keiji smirked.  
  
“You can kiss me now.”  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
“Keiji?”  
  
“What, Koutarou?”  
  
“This is disgusting.”  
  
Keiji paused.  
  
“I’ll go get the menus.”

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I just wanted to write my friend some fluff around her favourite Bokuaka headcanon, wherein neither of them can cook at all, despite the two of them absolutely loving food.
> 
> edit (05/03/16): also please come talk bokuaka/iwaoi/kuroken with me at hajiimee.tumblr.com - feed me your headcanons i've just had surgery so im bored as heckie home alone so there's like an 80% chance i'll write you a thing


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